


Light reflects from your shadow

by GingerHoran



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Broken Heart, Heartbreak, Love, M/M, Madness, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerHoran/pseuds/GingerHoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories sat around him in boxes, photographs, old schoolwork and random trinkets.<br/>It had been a year since he'd left, a year since he'd packed his shit up and caught the next train to freedom.<br/>-<br/>Niall's broken, then fixed but never quite healed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light reflects from your shadow

Niall looks at himself in the mirror and sighs, remembering back to those days of independence, and now what's left, he used to be pretty and unused and bright like a burning ball of energy; but now he just feels used and dirty and exhausted.

Arms come around his waist, fingers twisting themselves into the loopholes of his grey dress pants. Eyes green like broken shards of glass, sharp and piercing as they bore into his, beside his reflection.  
Kisses are planted on the back of his neck, and he smiles shyly, falsely, brokenly.

-

Niall's father only nodded once behind his newspaper, clearly uninterested as to what his only child was saying.  
Life was like that for Niall, he felt trapped, confused and ignored.  
He was 16 years old, and he'd never drank a sip of beer, never tasted the bitterness of cigarettes and never felt the sparks of another pair of lips on his own.

His father was a narrow-minded business man, away for days on end, and used to the high class, spotless hotel life. Hot coffee served in the morning by maids in uniforms, a personal assistant to tend to his every need and a posh, incarceration centre to send his son.

Niall had passed all exams with flying colours, only to earn a bored and rather disapproving look from his father.  
"Not good enough," he muttered, sipping his coffee and leaving soon after with a clink of cufflinks, and a dabbed napkin.

Niall felt as if he was trapped between two concrete walls, but he could hear the cries of delight and happiness from other children, but he couldn't escape and the more he cried and scratched his nails down the wall, the more they enclosed him within their claustrophobic grasp.

-  
Niall remembers the day he burst, the day he finally let go.  
Running out of the expensive apartment block at 4am, wearing a pair of ripped black jeans and a half dyed shirt, his hair a stark hot pink colour.

He laughed into the warm summery air, happy that he had purposefully spilt pink dye on his fathers paperwork as he jogged down the street, high off an imaginary source, his belongings stuffed into a tatty black backpack that was slung low over his shoulders and sat on his lower back.  
-  
Memories sat around him in boxes, photographs, old schoolwork and random trinkets .  
It had been a year since he'd left, a year since he'd packed his shit up and caught the next train to freedom.

Working nights at a bar, serving beers to cranky business men, abused wives and college students.  
It wasn't perfect, but it was home, he'd managed to gather enough to survive several months, to buy a small apartment with a large widow and cracked ceiling and paper thin walls, but he decorated it spontaneously, crazily like a child and a set of felt tips.  
  
It was home, and he could sip endless beers, and watch crappy television, and blare music and sit on the roof with a baggy jumper and boxer shorts just watching the world around him.

And maybe he hoped that his prick of a father would approach, would be invited into his shitty home but would be jealous that Niall had a personality, that Niall had a freedom, a creativity that no amount of money, or posh education, or servants could ever provide.

Because maybe Niall was actually living life, free, and alive and pretty.

Niall starts his day with a fag on the roof, wearing basketball shorts and an overly large sweater, laying back against the cool roof tiles and puffing out bitter smoke as he looks upon the rising sun.

There are memories scraped along these tiles, his first kiss with it's awkward clash of teeth and inexperienced movement of lips.  
But the memory that burns brightly through his mind, was one that was lined with shame and a runaway boy.

Louis was a loud clash of colours and noise, you often heard him before you saw him. Patterned tops and tight jeans, silly tattoos and coursing energy. And he was Niall's best friend.

Niall's not artistic, that's also a fact, straight lines are jagged, and circles become ovals but Niall wants to draw Louis' personality. Wants to draw that small bundle of energy he feels whenever the elder boy laughs, the way he's dependant and overly touchy. People think they're a couple, and they sorta are, linked by the screw tattoos on their ankles and their blue eyes only different by mere shades.

Louis' hair is a dark blue with little sparkles like stardust, and every time he meets Niall by the bar where he works, or brings him coffee when he's hungover it reminds him of a galaxy, the starry night in all it's beauty; with exploding stars and black holes.

  
Niall also remembers falling in love, remembers climbing to the roof of his shitty apartment block where the slate tiles are wonky, but the view is glorious.  
Louis' head was in his lap, feathery galaxy hair sprawled out onto his ripped, paint splattered jeans, and Niall threaded his fingers through the strands humming at he softness, as he can almost see the stardust like glitter on his fingertips.

"Y'know, I've always wanted to name a star after myself, what about that?" He asked, his finger childishly pointing out a small, bright star in the distance.

Niall shook his head, head turning downwards to look at the boy.  
"It's not bright enough for you Lou," he whispered.

Niall also remembers the tear tracked face of Louis when he told him he had to leave, when he told him that he didn't love him, when he told him that this city wasn't enough.

"But Niall please, I-I don't know what I'm gonna do without you. I'm sorry that I love you, so, so sorry. Just forget it and stay. Please just stay?"

The thing is, Niall's never been loved, doesn't know the meaning of love. It's pathetic really, he's just scared.

He sits there, the rain pouring around him and matting his red hair to his forehead, the stardust slowly discolouring on his fingertips before disappearing into the puddles gathering on the cold tarmac.

A little bit of his heart breaks of, the shiniest part, the part that held the most laughter, it disappears alongside the stars, sitting by the moon that's now tainted with pain, and lost love.

But he still runs, dyes his hair a glistening silver colour, as if it's a memorial to Louis and his broken heart.

The roof he lives on next doesn't face the stars, it's overlooking a small pond with ducks paddling in at night, and the ripples of water whenever he throws a pebble. And he's sort of glad there are too many trees and bushes to make way for the glistening stars, that remind him too much of the remnants of stardust on his fingertips, almost embedded into his flesh.

The light is pretty bright, and seeps in through Niall's closed eyelids, disturbing the fragments of sleep and causing him to turn and bury himself like a mole into the warm, dark sheets away from the devilling light.

He does drag himself out of bed though, eventually, slipping on a pair of boxer briefs and brushing his teeth with bleary eyes in the cracked bathroom mirror.

Liam's on the couch, face tucked between a pillow and his shoulder blade. It looks pretty uncomfortable, and Niall wants to gather the elder boy in a bundle of sheets and place him in his own bed, but that's being too nice for 7:32am.

Pouring himself a mug of coffee with a dribble of milk and 3 sugars, he sits on the cool marble counter looking over at the fridge with pinned memos and pictures.  
As Liam groans in the background, he pulls his sight away from one particular memory that caught his interest to where Liam is staring at him with wide, brown eyes.

"Dude! Why the fuck am I on the couch," he hisses, and Niall chuckles as he takes a sip of his coffee before splashing the remnants into the sink, and sliding off the counter with a soft thud.

Sliding himself onto the couch, his feet propped under Liam's knees so they warm up, he sighs contentedly, ignoring the rolling of Liam's eyes, to flip the television on and watch crappy MTV.

"Harry's been asking about you."

Niall freezes momentarily, but Liam's questioning look pulls him out of the state. They've been close friends for a while, but Niall doesn't feel comfortable telling Liam, it's all still confusing, and fuzzy in his own brain, how is he supposed to explain it to straight-talking, rather monotone Liam.

-  
"Are you okay?" Zayn asks, with furrowed eyebrows and hands clasping the unopened beer bottle like a lifeline, as if it was the point of gravity glueing him to the barstool.

"Yeah, just a stomach ache," Niall lies easily, half-drunkenly crowing loudly to the bartender for another beer, because of course 3 isn't enough to make him forget.

"No. Are you okay?" Zayn questions again, and even though his face is persistent, his voice is soft, caring and reminds Niall of his mother and the rolling hills of Ireland, and god that was such a long time ago.

But then it hits him, that he doesn't care about Niall physically, or to that extent, but more mentally and emotionally, and the deep thoughts that are currently screaming and calling in Niall's cloudy brain.

And to that he only replies with another sip of beer.

He can feel the judgement, the questions, the answers burning into his back, the way Zayn looks at him, all cool and easy, eyes dark and brooding, and it makes Niall self conscious.

They hold hands on the way home, and Niall doesn't know whether it's because he's had 4 beers and is unsteady on his feet, or whether it's because Zayn truly cares about him.

Zayn presses a dry kiss to his lips outside his apartment, it's so soft it's almost nonexistent, but its so much more and makes Niall think that someone does care, and that maybe he can be loved, or give out love.  
  
And he feels better.

Everything falls into place pretty quickly, so fast in fact that Niall can't keep up with it.

Zayn's next to him when he wakes up in the morning, cradling Niall to his chest and snoring lightly, pressing kisses along his pale jaw as his eyes flutter open.  
He takes Louis' place outside his work at lunchtimes, with a bag of bagels and Starbucks coffee, and his hair is not galaxy navy but stark black and it mixes quite well with the soft, violet lilac that Niall's currently sporting.

Niall meets Zayn's parents on Halloween, his fathers a large, joyous man all laughs and quipping jokes, his mother small, and overprotective and caring. His little sisters dance around Niall like fairies, with long onyx hair and hazel-green eyes, and it almost hurts Niall with how much love settles around him, how much feeling and emotion he has to absorb.

They make love lazily on the couch on Christmas Eve, the fire crackling in the background and takeaway pizza on the coffee table.  
Niall doesn't hesitate to smile when Zayn says "I love you."  
It seems more like a promise than a statement, his eyes are glistening from the crackling flames, and Niall tightens his grip on his biceps leaning up to place a kiss on his lips.

Zayn's like chocolate, sweet and indulgent on his tongue, addictive like drugs. He is almost like a drug in a way, his eyes almost beckoning and his voice like a pill on your tongue, enticing and dangerous and just waiting to be swallowed so the daydream can begin.

Niall's hair is like a plain scrap of paper, and Zayn is like an unruly child, armed with a set of paintbrushes and a paintbox. He's been through many colours, darker shades that Zayn thinks brings out his eyes, especially that dark blood red he bought, and loved tugging his fingers through when Niall's mouth was stretched wide around him, eyes innocent and throat sore.  
Lighter shades when Niall just wants a change, like a subtle blond that sat upon his dark roots and was soft to the eyes, and caught Zayn's eye, and made him write poems about sparkles in those blue eyes.

It burnt Niall when he heard them though, between the dusty white sheets and Zayn's tanned muscles, the stitching of his heart was almost healed but it was ripped open.

'Hair that sparkles like stardust, and bring out the soft diamonds in the lazy oceans of your eyes'

Niall just taught himself to smile, taught himself to love the boy he'd given his heart to, instead of crying over the boy he denied it to.

Everything also falls apart after that as well. The walls that Niall built up around him, the forgotten, the imprisonment, the abuse he witnessed and a child,

A tall boy with eyes like shattered beer bottles seems to be everywhere, like a ripple in the calming pond. He's there when Niall leaves their apartment, out of the corner of his eye, dressed in a long green overcoat that brings out his eyes; he's there outside the coffee shop at lunchtimes, either lingering in a booth with a book or outside the door with his phone.

And Niall's just apprehensive, maybe a little curious, he's never had an admirer or stalker or whatever this person is, it's almost flattering in a strange way.

Niall only starts to get a little scared when the young man gets too close, when he's walking behind him on those Thursday evenings when he strolls to Zayn's apartment with flowers, because Thursdays are their special day.  
But now that man with the green shards of glass for eyes, and curly hair tucked into a grey beanie is always there, lingering, smirking, just watching.

Those eyes seem to follow him everywhere, there a reflection in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, he sees flashes of green in those hazel yes he's grown to love, there haunting him, day and night, and he feels like running again.  
He sometimes calls Zayn, his voice cracked and sore from crying, a whimpering, childish mess as he hides beneath his sheets, those green eyes seemingly imprinted onto the wall of his bedroom.  
  
"Babe?"

Niall looks up at Zayn, who's wiping pasta sauce from the corner of his mouth, and it shouldn't send shivers down his spine but it does.

He replies with a hum, and sparkling eyes, sometimes he feels like a bit of child in front of Zayn, always being scolded to chew his food properly, and not talk with his mouth full.

But he's the same with Zayn, calming his nerves before an art exhibition or making sure he looks presentable for buyers and interviews.

It's all part of a healthy relationship, but he's still scared of it getting boring for Zayn, for him to just pack his bags and leave, because even though he's the one normally doing the running, he doesn't want to be left alone.  
  
"I was thinking that I could move in."

And Niall beams, all traces of nerves and anxiety gone, laughing lightly until his stomach hurts and the laziness of just eating settles, before throwing himself at the other boy, soft and content in his arms.

The fall asleep like that, Zayn's arm strong around him, holding him like an anchor. And as Zayn breaths soft hot puffs of air into his neck, does he feel loved, does he feel like he actually loves Zayn's because no longer is he so scared and inexperienced, but loveable.

When he wakes up he gazes into those hazel eyes, having been tracing all of the contours of his tattoos all night he feels confident, he kisses him roughly, gripping tightly at his waist and letting fingers thread through his violet hair.

Soon though, when the kiss has become lazy and languid, and they've become slightly horny and riled up, Zayn pulls away from the kiss and directs on onto Niall's earlobe.

"Fuchsia pink, hm?"  
-  
"Two double shot expresso's please?" The young man laughs, a pretty blond at his waist clutching at the material of his jacket like an ignored kitten, to be honest, Niall never liked these types of possessive relationships, it just shows the cracks in trust.

"Coming right up," he sighs, he's been working double shifts all week, it's hindering on being overworked and underpaid but he's not complaining, Zayn brings him lunch somedays or they meet up at his studio, mostly just make out on the paint splattered couch than admire the artwork.

After a few more drinks are served, the coffee shop seems to empty a little, all that's left is a girl reading a novel in the booth near the bathroom, and a couple on the stools sharing a raspberry torte.  
But then the doorbell rings and Niall reluctantly puts away his phone, staving of the urge to throw it at the new customer and plaster on a welcoming smile, which disappears as soon as it arrives.

He's there, the stalker, the pervert, whoever the fuck this guy is.  
Niall grits his teeth as the young man places his elbows on the counter and leans in a little too close into Niall's personal space before breathing a little sentence over at him.

"A mocha, no sugar, please?" He asks, ever the polite person, and from this distance Niall can see his jungle grew eyes and his wavy, unruly brown hair which sticks to his forehead, and he's not that bad looking, almost handsome.

Niall ignores him, to the best of his ability, choosing to focus his attention on the coffee he's making and the fact that he's going home to spend another amazing night with his boyfriend.

The boy soon introduces himself as Harry, a Mr Harry Edward Styles, patriot of theatre at the local university, accent slow and drawling.  
Niall's intrigued, Harry just seems friendly and was just looking for someone to cast as his newest fictional character, and Niall seemed to fit the characters physical persona perfectly.

The boy seems excited, childlike and wise, almost a contradiction in a way. It's been 2 hours, Niall shut down the shop a while back, promising his boss he'd lock the shutters before he left. Him and Harry sat in the booth nearest the heater, sipping hot chocolates and sharing a slice of chocolate tart.

It was romantic in a weird way, Niall couldn't help but be drawn in by the boys passion with the stage, with writing and literature, it was like Zayn and his Picasso, whereas Harry was more Roma Ligocka, world war 2 memoirs.

"See ya' around?" Harry questioned with a smirk, and a quirk of his eyebrows those glassy eyes glistening like dewed leaves in the the morning.

Blood trailed down Niall's arms, dripping hot and wet and creating a little puddle in the palm of his hand, staining his pale skin a deep, shiny crimson sliding like rain and leaving scars.

All he saw was Zayn's angry eyes, those scorching black eyes lined with pain, regret and burning anger.  
And Niall sobbed as he slid down the door, his feet being crushed beneath him, his hands coming up to cover his face, the blood dripping down like tears and making his hair sticky and everything smell metallic.

Bile rose up in his throat but he couldn't find it in him to be sick, he couldn't find it in himself to release the burning liquid.  
He was dirty, and cheap and disgusting, he deserved the bruises on his hips and the scars on his stomach, the cuts on his thighs and the black rings beneath his eyes, he deserved it all.

He remembers when he was caught, he was stupid, so utterly stupid, it was all his fault and he deserved the punches, the slaps, the scratches.

Harry was uninvited, he just turned up at Niall's flat one evening holding a bunch of daisies and a bright evergreen smile. Niall let him in, charmed as always by the younger man, they sat and drank tea and talked for ages, the time slowly ticking by on the clock.

But then Harry's whole demeanour changed, his eyes darkened and his large hands were roaming all over Niall's body making him feel small and dirty. Lips were on his own forceful and demanding and Niall tried to scramble away, he dug his fingers into Harry's shoulder blades and tried to push him but it only brought him closer and aroused him further.

Suddenly Harry yelped, being picked up from the scruff of his neck and flung against the wall, Zayn's eyes were black as the night, those little gold flecks lost in the black hole of anger, and Niall for the first time in his life was scared of love, scared of the one who held his heart in the palm of his hand.

"You bastard," he spat, pointing a finger in Niall's direction, and then everything simply became numb even as Zayn slapped and punched and tore and screamed, even when Harry awoke and was dragged outside and Niall was left bloody did he cry, he cried because he could hear Harry screams of pain and Zayn's hysterical laughs, only then did he shed tears.

He was used, Zayn would come home and use Niall like a rag doll, there was no longer love in his eyes, no longer those little specks of hazel life just a zombie, with tearing claws and words that would tear Niall's heart into little shreds.

He didn't recognise the love of his life anymore.

He was a stranger in his own home.

Zayn would look at him like a toy, use him for his own pleasure then head out to clubs and come back with a pretty girl on his arm, they'd fuck lewdly in their bed screaming from pleasure whilst Niall would sob on the couch, scratching into the leather until his eyes were sore, his throat was like acid and his heart was crumbling.

Running wasn't that simple this time because he hoped that Zayn would change, he begged the boy, wish on the stars and pray to the gods he never actually believed in.  
Nothing worked, the scars built up, more blood was shed and a little piece of that blackened heart wild crumble into ash and sit distastefully at the bottom of his stomach, making him feel constantly sick.

But he did getaway, after weeks of bruises that left purple splotches on his skin, and Zayn's burning glances he packed up one morning, shoving all of his clothes into a carrier bag and running to the train station.

Niall sat on the bench, his head in his hands and his mind buzzing and heart barely beating, waiting for the 505 train to Wolverhampton to arrive.

"Hey buddie. You alright?" A small voice asked, Niall shot up his limbs turning to ice with fright, but all he saw were two warm brown eyes looking in his direction, and Niall latched onto this sandy haired boy instantly, already feeling warm.

Time flew slowly with Liam, he was gentle as didn't probe, a calm soul, letting Niall move into his flat with him and finding him a voluntary course at his University.

Soon Zayn was fading into the background, and Niall started to focus on getting himself a degree and studying in the evenings and occasionally going to pubs with Liam. It didn't stop him from crying at loud noises, getting shivery at night, and avoiding anything to do with relationships, he just wanted to be relaxed and single.

-  
Niall's phone buzzed on the table, and he sighed closing his notebook, and stretching before reaching for his mobile which was underneath his pillow.

Liam: Unofficial gathering with the boys tonight. Hope you don't mind :)

Niall huffed a laugh, he wasn't up for serious partying anytime soon but hopefully a few beers would help him unwind, he was on a short tether and needed a bit of release.

Liam came hopping into the flat with a childish grin and some beers, he said that Andy would be bringing along some pizzas and some other guys from his sociology class.

"They're all safe, I swear Niall." He shouted as he headed to the shower, Niall only rolled his eyes, breaking open a beer and shuffling his papers into his file before flinging it onto his desk without a second thought. Studying could wait for a while.

Liam ran out of his bedroom, hair wet and flopping against his forehead and face flushed from apparent heat, wearing a simple red plaid shirt and black skinny jeans.  
The doorbell rang insistently, loud and bursting into their little flat on the outskirts of the campus.

"Payno? We have arrived!" A loud, brash voice called, one that Niall remembered clearly from late night pub visits and casual flirting at house parties; it was Andy, Liam's best mate, who was constantly hounding Niall for a date or a coffee which was always politely refused.

The door burst open, neither of the flatmates were particularly shocked, as Niall had recently discovered, everything was pretty much open house.

"PAYNO!" Andy bellowed, pushing forward to run directly towards the boy, he slipped on the rug that lay against the hardwood flooring, well maybe he had a few drinks before the party had actually began.

Laughing loudly, clenching his stomach hard as he fell to his needs beneath Andy's crest fallen face, he didn't notice the tall boy flanking his left side, face bright and eyes that resemble shimmery broken glass.

Suddenly Niall stopped laughing and started to cry.  
-  
That night Niall had nightmares, full of pain and pleasure, an irrevocably bad mixture they made Niall cry with unbearable honesty, it was probably the most truth to surface in the past year, the subconscious revealing itself.

"Are you okay?" And Niall winced in déjà vu, the familiarity of the scene was too close to the truth, the coffee on the counter, Liam's furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes, it was too much to handle and Niall felt everything fall apart.

His scars ripped open and the blood poured to the floor, mixing with tears on the way creating the most powerful liquid, the most pitiful image, the image of a crumbling boy with a broken heart.

-  
"You're weird", the young boy muttered with a crusty nose, and a pointing finger.  
  
"No I'm not!" Niall thought, blue eyes shining with tears and fists clenched by his side, children could be such horrible creatures, with questioning looks and wandering eyes.  
  
The other boy only snorted, and ran off into the group of bustling children running riot in the playground.  
Niall was lonely, his mother was gone, off she went into this black box beneath the dirt never to be seen again and everybody cried, and moaned and screamed but Niall just stood beside his father completely numb, not knowing what to think or do.

He'd been shipped over to America, a big country with people with funny accents, into a big glossy apartment and with overly smiling ladies greeting him at the breakfast table wearing his daddies shirts and grimy bright red lipstick, he wanted to go home to Ireland, and his mother and normal breakfasts.

He just wanted to go home.

-  
Harry hummed into his neck, but it wasn't warm or comforting, it just made Niall shiver in disgust, but he needed to be loved, he needed someone, anyone.

Liam was broken, he was fed up with the tears, the blood, the emotion, with Niall. He couldn't handle the pressure of putting back together the fragments of Niall's heart, the cracked veins and the bloody pulp, everything was a mess and Niall was slowly dissolving into madness dragging Liam into that pitchy darkness with him.

"You need me Niall. I'm the only one who'll love you, I'm the only one who can put you back together."

Niall realised that he was broken from the beginning, nothing was ever going to fix him, he'd continue to tear at his own heart with his own damning thoughts and he wasn't meant to be loved but he craved anything, any touch, any glance even if it was all a lie.


End file.
